


The President's Vice

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Bughead Stories [21]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Banter, Betty Cooper Loves Jughead Jones, Betty believes in Jughead, Betty moves in, Betty works on his confidence, Elections, F/M, FP Jones II's A+ Parenting, FP is a goof, Family, Friendship, Humor, Jones/Cooper 2018, Jughead's suffering from self-doubt, Protective Betty Cooper, Romance, Student Council, bughead - Freeform, dirty democracy puns because I don't know how to make normal jokes, home sweet trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Jones/Cooper 2018. It's official, they're living together AND they're running for student council, and Jughead realizes he might be in over his head in at least one of those scenarios. Fortunately, Betty has the situation in hand. She's ready to pep talk, coach, and whatever else her boyfriend needs to boost his confidence before election day. Rated E for Betty's methods.





	The President's Vice

**Author's Note:**

> A little something fun to kick off the Jones/Cooper campaign. Enjoy!

Betty could hear Jughead’s father stirring at the other end of the trailer. It was a tiny space with thin walls dividing the rooms, yet it felt much more private than her home had since Chic moved in. With one hand fixing her sleep-dishevelled hair, Betty used the other to fold the blanket over on itself so that it rested at the far end of the couch from where she and Jughead sat. It was an attempt to make the scene appropriate before F.P. came in, not that she and Jughead had tried anything when she’d slept here, on this very couch, the night before. Her first night out of the formerly comfortable home that had become haunted by her very-much-alive half-brother. Space superficially neatened, Betty focused her attention back on her boyfriend and the discussion they’d been having about the student council election. Determining that they would run together was the lesser of the two decisions they’d made the previous evening, but still big enough to get Jughead up early and make him jitter with apprehension.

“We can figure this out,” she persisted, taking his hand. “It’s just a series of steps. That’s all an election is.”

“Yeah,” Jughead spat sarcastically, “that and having enough natural charisma that you win based on popularity alone.”

Betty shrugged.

“Sure, a candidate needs to be likeable, but I think you’ll be surprised by how many people care about your platform.” He rolled his eyes, but she kept staring at him, insisting. “I’m serious, Jug. Between your articles in the _Blue and Gold_ and the publicity you got for protesting outside of Southside High, there’s a school full of students who know you stand for something. And they’re paying attention.”

“Which is usually when I screw up.” His ran his hand roughly forward and back through his thick hair in obvious frustration.

“Which is why we’ll follow the steps,” Betty reminded him with a smile. “We’ll be careful and consistent.”

Jughead glanced sideways at her, mouth tugging up at one corner.

“See? You’re so sure. This is the perfect thing for you. You _have_ to be co-president.”

She sighed, not letting her smile slip. This was what they’d been debating all morning: the actual titles they would campaign under. Jughead had been full of confidence in the idea of them being elected, until Betty had spoken the words ‘Vice President.’ Then, his self-assurance had dropped with his grin and fear had rushed in to fill the void.

“I have the paper to run,” she reminded him, “plus this is your time, Jug.” She shook his arm in emphasis. “You don’t need me to lead with you.”

“You say that now.” He swiped his hand over his face, probably still slightly tired like she was. “I’m good at railing against the establishment on my own time, in my own impulsive way. Representing a group is different.”

“You’ve been representing the Serpents,” she said, confused.

“ _Officially_ representing a group.” Jughead sent her a wry smile.

“Well,” Betty began thoughtfully, “we just have to build up your confidence a little.”

“How? I don’t want Veronica to win, but even the strength of that conviction can’t replace the feeling of utter dread I get when I imagine having to stand on stage and debate with her.”

He slumped forward, setting his elbows on his knees, and all Betty could do was rub his back in a manner that he would hopefully find soothing. She heard approaching footsteps and looked up to see F.P. stepping into the living room.

“Good morning good morning,” he cheerfully greeted them―mostly her, since Jughead was now burying his face in his hands. “I see you found the orange juice, Betty.” He nodded to indicate the glass on the low table in front of her. She nodded, feeling gratefulness overwhelm her. She’d thanked F.P. profusely the night before for agreeing to put her up and knew any more would probably just make them both uncomfortable. When he stared quizzically at his son, Betty spoke up.

“I’m just helping Jughead brainstorm a little.”

“ _There_ he is,” F.P. joked as Jughead lowered his hands and glanced over at his father.

“Did you ever think you’d see the day when I ran for student body president?”

F.P. crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“At this point, Jughead, I know better than to try and predict your behaviour.” He shook his head, grinning, and looked at Betty. “Boy’s full of surprises,” he summarized. She laughed and nodded. “Well,” F.P. began again, “I don’t have the busy schedule of a brand new politician, but I do have places to go and people to see. Betty, I leave you to your work.” He waved a hand to signal that he meant his son.

“Thanks for that,” Jughead griped.

F.P. snatched a crumpled up newspaper article from the kitchen table (one of Jughead’s discards during his amateur Hiram Lodge investigation) and chucked it across the room to hit his son in the head. When Jughead glared at him, F.P. levelled a warning finger.

“You know I think you can do it, but we _both_ know that you’re the only one who can really convince yourself.” He raised his eyebrows at his son, Betty guessed to encourage the message to sink in, then retreated into the kitchen. He emerged with a banana. “Breakfast,” he explained, heading for the door. Before it could slam shut, he popped back in. “And, Jughead? Pick that up.” He pointed at the paper projectile now grounded by Jughead's foot. “You have a guest.” F.P. grinned at Betty and was gone.

“Come on,” Betty instructed, getting to her feet as her boyfriend began to sink backwards into the sofa. With the severity of the slump he was currently cultivating, he might actually be able to vanish into the furniture before the election.

He stared doubtfully up at her.

“What are we doing?”

“You heard your dad. We’re getting to work.”

“I believe that was directed at you.”

“Yeah,” Betty laughed, putting a hand on her hip, “and it was in reference to _you_. Let’s go.” She held out her hand for Jughead to take and pulled him up, staggering slightly.

He stopped her in order to retrieve the newspaper ball from the floor and deposit it in the recycling, then allowed Betty to lead him through the length of the trailer to his bedroom. She assumed he would be the most comfortable there and therefore easier to coach. Stepping inside, Betty had to admit it was where she was most comfortable too; the whole space smelled like the particular scent of Jughead, even more than the couch had. It had been a while since she’d been in his bedroom and the homecoming was sweet. Laying a hand against Jughead’s stomach, she pushed him back towards the bed. His eyebrow jumped up provocatively, but he backed up and took a seat on the end of his mattress.

“Jughead Jones,” Betty started, standing across from him and attempting an official tone, “tell me why you want to be president of the student council.”

“Because―”

“In a complete sentence, please.” She smirked at him though he looked annoyed.

“I want to be president because I―”

“Because ‘ _I_ ’? The position isn’t about you, Mr. Jones.”

He opened his mouth (she would’ve bet it was to challenge her), but closed it again, nodding to concede that her point had been valid.

“You’re right.”

“Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to get every answer perfect on my first try though, Betts. Cut me some slack,” he implored, reaching out for her hand. She stepped back, waggling a finger at him.

“I disagree. I’ve heard you speak really movingly, Jug, and it was always in an intense situation where…” her eyes raised to the ceiling as she tried to recall the specific conditions where she’d seen Jughead thrive in oratory combat, “…you had a strong opinion, you were passionate about something, and where no one else could say what you said.”

“So we just… give up on practice and I go into the first debate unprepared?” He was trying, Betty could tell, really concentrating on what she was saying. Being social, especially professionally social, didn’t come naturally to him.

“No, of course not. What we can do is train you to be able to deliver the same kind of speeches in a less impromptu moment. You have all the skills, Juggy, you’ll just be applying them in a different way.”

She shrugged and he stared at her, looking lost.

“Tell me one thing,” Jughead requested. Betty raised her eyebrows to show she was listening. “Is there any chance that this will make me lose any ability I already possess?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re good at this. We just have to trick your brain a little.”

With that, Betty grasped the hem of her long-sleeved shirt and peeled it off over her head.

“Seeing the audience in their underwear is supposed to reduce the anxiety of public speaking,” she said, justifying her actions when Jughead failed to speak and simply sat staring.

“I think that’s something you typically only _imagine_.”

Technically, it was an argument, but unlike Jughead’s political agenda, his heart wasn’t in his one. Betty got the feeling, watching him, that his heart was somewhere over here with her, his eyes too, roaming up and down her torso. She unbuttoned her jeans, smiling to herself. If he kept looking at her like that, it might take them away from the practice questions she’d devised before falling asleep last night, but it would most likely aid the larger goal of increasing his self-confidence. Not much of a sacrifice, she thought.

“I’m saving you a step,” Betty countered.

Jughead jerked like he maybe hadn’t been listening―judging by the spreading flush of his face, he most certainly hadn’t. She let gravity take her jeans to the floor and shook her ankles free of them. Jughead swallowed and now Betty was the one transfixed, hung up on watching his throat, his mouth.

“Efficient,” he complimented.

“Does this help?” She stepped smoothly towards him and his gaze swung up to her meet hers, like a child on a tire swing trying to kick the moon. Jughead cleared his throat.

“I can already report a rise in the polls.”

Betty climbed into his lap and he shifted backwards on the bed, the better to hold her against him. Bringing her hips down to his, she smirked knowingly.

“I see what you mean,” she said, nudging against the erection she could feel stiffening beneath his pajama pants.

Jughead groaned and held her face between his hands, kissing her hard. Betty scooted even further into him, tangling her body with his like they were meant to hook together, like Barrel of Monkeys. The more deeply he kissed her, the more she ground against his lap. She couldn’t help herself; they hadn’t been together enough times that their clothing stayed on very long once that ‘let’s have sex’ switch flipped in their brains. Moving against him like this―with that extra friction of cloth between her legs, yet being able to intimately feel his length in a way she couldn’t when he wore jeans―had Betty trembling in his lap. The next second, it had her planting a hand on his chest and pushing him flat on his back. She followed him down and Jughead’s fingers stabbed into her hair as he worked desperately at her mouth. His other hand shot down to caress and then clench her ass, asking her to keep up the way she was rubbing against him. Betty jumped, tingly and electrified, as she worked her hips into a steady rhythm, her clit feeling like it was gliding along his erection the same way her body had glided along the pole the night of her Serpent dance at the Whyte Wyrm.

Like a gentle rainfall turning to a pounding downpour, Betty’s idle pleasure turned to intentional fulfillment. Her only clear thought was to hang onto her boyfriend and her fingers snuck up the sleeves of his t-shirt looking for his shoulders. It might have been easier if he wasn’t still wearing it, but there was a certain thrill in squirming her hands under his clothes and feeling hidden skin, even if it was only his upper arms. Sloppily, their kiss broke and trapped sounds poured out of them both. Betty’s breath felt bumpy as she exhaled, a car with bad shocks traveling along a potholed rural side road. She angled her hips and rocked insatiably, felt like a battery nearly up to its full charge… and Jughead grabbed her hips and raised them off of his. Betty’s moan was all heartbreak, until her boyfriend’s hand pushed roughly into the front of her underwear.

Jughead’s fingers were insistent, driving to where she was wettest and twisting inside with the kind of concentrated pressure that could work the peel off an orange. His thumb finding her clit lit Betty up all over again, only she couldn’t hear her own moans over his. From below her, Jughead’s mouth reached up to bite at her neck, the lobe of her ear, and then suddenly that wasn’t enough for him―apparent to Betty based on how he arched his back to flip her over onto hers. Getting into position above her, he tugged his t-shirt off one-handed (an aggressively physical action that drew Betty’s gaze down to his clenched abs). _Finally_ , she thought as she glanced a little lower to where his erection was forcing the fabric of his pajama pants away from his hips. She wrapped her arms around his warm back and tried to pull him against her, but now he was sliding the straps of her bra from her shoulders, eyes cast down towards her breasts. She shuddered, thinking how good it would feel to have her chest bare against his, and together they fumbled her bra off, hindered by too many hands at the task and the subsequent laughter.

Their skin had hardly met and the throb of Jughead’s single firm kiss was still dawdling on her lips when his head moved away. Betty exhaled exasperatedly and would have immediately hauled his mouth back up to hers if he hadn’t then begun to hastily kiss down her body. Her fingers made their way into his dark hair―gripping it and smoothing it on repeat―and it took some time for her to realize she wasn’t merely holding onto Jughead, but pushing his head down. As he kissed her stomach, making Betty abruptly flinch in surprise, Jughead’s hands squeezed between her ass and the bed, catching her underwear and pulling them off. His eyes raised slowly, time seeming to lurch to a stop, and then Betty moved, somewhere between crawling and scrambling backwards towards the head of the bed under his stare, yielding to her irrepressible smile. Jughead grinned back at her, shaking his head for some secret reason she couldn’t see from the outside, and caught up. She stared at him and the way the morning light painted his face, making him look fresh and untroubled. Still smiling, he delicately encircled her ankles then ran his hands worshipfully (it was the only way she could describe the expression he wore that made her heart jump longingly) up her legs. The higher Jughead’s palms came, the more his countenance tipped the Jones Scale of Desire from love-struck to lascivious. Betty was willing to give up her equal share of power for their president/vice president dynamic, but not here. At least, not right away.

As if Jughead was an invading army, Betty made her stand, bracing her foot against his shoulder to keep him back. There was an element of sacrifice: she’d made herself vulnerable and his gaze fell between her legs to take advantage. His head cocked slightly and he pressed his shoulder against her resistance until it gave way, her knee bending to allow him closer. Smiling, he lowered his head, eyes fixed on hers. When she felt his breath, cool compared to the heat of her arousal, Betty reached back to grab the edge of one of his headboard’s wide slats. She’d tried to prepare, but his mouth was on her before her grip had closed and it felt so, so good, better than she was ready for. His tongue was deft and unpredictable, toying with her clit before his teeth nipped it and his mouth closed around it. Jughead released her from his lips only to find her again with his tongue, dragging and flicking. Betty’s head thrashed back and forth, her leg looped limply over his shoulder. She came, digging her heel automatically into his back, possibly giving him a bruise that she’d have to look for later. Impossible to say whether she’d remember, what with her heart quaking under her ribs like a rocket ready for launch and Jughead slinking up her body; smiling in satisfaction, she let her leg fall sideways so he could get all the way to her.

The first thing on his agenda was kissing her, long and properly this time after abbreviating their last kiss. Jughead lowered his body onto hers and Betty, consumed by after-orgasm affection, speedily ran her hand down his torso to check up on the next item on their schedule. His pajama bottoms were still on, but low around his hips from all the shifting and maneuvering. For Betty, this meant blindly finding his erection half-exposed. For Jughead, it meant a sensation that, from Betty’s perspective, seemed akin to being hooked up to jumper cables. He jolted and gasped and she tightened her initially slack grasp, stroking down his length and pushing the remaining covering of his pajamas away as she went. Obviously not interested in waiting for his girlfriend to get around to taking his pants off completely, Jughead pushed his last piece of clothing off himself and surged up into her.

Moaning breathily, Betty hooked her leg around his hip. He pushed steadily in as far as it was possible to go, chin quivering until she raised her hand and smoothed his chin under her thumb. In Jughead’s forceful exhale, Betty recognized her cue, holding more tightly to the headboard. Her sweaty palm wasn’t helping. Before he could set a pace, she gave up on perfecting her position and pressed her body to his instead. Unresistingly, Jughead rolled like a capsized ship, holding her ass as she started to straighten up, then thought better of it and remained leaning over him at a low angle. He thrust ravenously up into her, hungry in his hips and in his hot stare―deep teal this morning, making her think of drifting in the middle of a remote lake. Looking down at him, she wanted to plunge in, but it was he who did the plunging, heaving up over and over. Betty’s hips tapped in, giving her brain a break, and she was rocking in his lap, bouncing, flying, crying tearlessly, building towards a scream if she could just…

Jughead wrestled her onto her back again, getting her where she needed to be in more ways than one. His palm, as damp as her own, lifted the underside of her thigh. Fingers digging into her skin were like background noise once he began to hammer firm thrusts deep inside her. Betty’s head flopped back like it had decided to just not interfere or do anything that might slow Jughead down. She let out a cry against his neck when he hovered so close over her that there was hardly any space between them at all. Arching her back eliminated that last tiny gap, though that wasn’t why she’d done it; Jughead pulsed strongly in and out of her and, from the outside, brushed continually over her clit with his hips, making her needy and shameless. She felt his hand skip up her ribs, banging off her skin because he wouldn’t decrease his pace to allow for a more precise movement. Her smooth nipple tightened up when his hand stole over her breast to pluck at it. Now all his hands were for her: the one sending shoots of pleasure via her nipple and the other working the flesh of her thigh. Betty’s own hands skidded across Jughead’s back, wanting something, wanting everything, and he gave it to her, ratcheting the tempo.

Panting, grasping, fighting tooth and nail to keep her eyes open, Betty slammed her hips in response to every bucking thrust of Jughead’s. The inside of her head seemed to go _bang, bang, bang_ , three deliberate reverberations careering up from her core that shattered her like a baseball through a plate glass window. As Betty orgasmed, Jughead freed her breast to clutch her shoulder and she wrapped her fingers over and around his, giving his hand a squeeze that was white-knuckled for the both of them. His hips zipped forward and he dropped her leg in favour of seizing her upper arm. Betty felt like she was shaking, was pretty sure that she was, but couldn’t definitively tell. Wide-eyed, she witnessed Jughead’s eyes clamp shut and timidly open again several heartbeats later (whether they were her heartbeats or his she couldn’t tell either, seeing as his chest was now pressed flat to hers). Betty kissed his forehead and then his cheek. He buried his face in her neck, his breathing still laboured. As long as he laid still, she kept her arms protectively around him. It was as though they’d just survived a tornado; she glanced around the room, expecting to view the wreckage, but everything was in its place, if not exactly neat.

“I love you,” he mumbled into her hair. She held him tighter and echoed his words.

When his skin went from hot to clammy and even Betty, cocooned by his body, started to shiver, Jughead pulled away from her and hauled up a heavy blanket from the end of his bed. If he’d made his bed in the first place, Betty thought, maybe neither of them would have been tempted to make this happen. She smiled to herself as Jughead laid down at her side and reached around her to ensure she was snuggly tucked in.

“We can’t stay like this, you know,” Betty whispered, sweeping a strand of hair from his forehead.

“I know, I know. I’ll be the president of the student council soon and I need to start getting used to the idea. Places to go, people to see,” he joked in a tone of faux-pomposity, quoting his dad’s earlier speech.

“You’re gonna be great,” she told him. Jughead licked his lower lip then pressed into her for a kiss. “And we’re gonna win,” she added as he drew back.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll work on getting our public onside, but I already know who _I’m_ voting for.” Her voice may have been teasing, but her sentiment was sincere. She found his hand and held it.

“I was hoping you would. It’d be a little disheartening if my girlfriend didn’t vote for me,” Jughead pointed out, wrapping an arm securely around her.

“I’m not just your girlfriend,” Betty corrected, poking her finger sharply into his bare chest. “I’m your Vice.”


End file.
